


Course Correcting

by toewsyourheart



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rookie Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick asks Jonny to pop his cherry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Course Correcting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartstrings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstrings/gifts).



Jonny’s come to expect certain things from Patrick. 

When your life is so closely intertwined with someone else’s–mentally, physically, emotionally, and, well, intimately–that tends to happen. 

They play together. They eat together. They sleep together. 

They chill together. They fight together. They laugh together. 

Patrick’s become as much a part of him as hockey is, over the course of their rookie season; together is their normal, and it’s as easy as breathing, despite any bumps they may encounter, since Patrick’s a trying little shit on occasion, and Jonny’s stubborn as an ox, or so he’s been told. 

So, yeah, Jonny’s decent at anticipating Patrick’s behavior at this point; he’s not that difficult to figure out, quiet and pensive as he is at times, because even in that, he’s the most expressive person Jonny’s ever known. 

There’s meaning in the silence, if you know what to look for, just as there’s meaning in Patrick’s carefree jubilance after a big game, and in his shy smile, when Jonny meets his eyes from across the room. 

Being able to read him well is what tells Jonny when Patrick needs to be held, when he needs to be pushed, when he needs to be comforted or bitched out; it’s what tells Jonny whether or not Patrick’s going to climb into bed with him or sleep in his own, follow Jonny into the shower or wait his turn. 

Most often, and even more so recently, it’s the former in both scenarios, and that’s more than okay with Jonny. 

Tensions are high, at times, because of the pressure they’re both under, and Jonny’s not as in check with his own shit as he’d like to be, but still, he navigates this thing–with the team and their game, with the two of them–as best he can. 

When he gets the read wrong, Patrick’s always there to correct, of course–to tug Jonny in close or push him away, to close the gap himself or create space, to tell Jonny what he needs and how he needs it.

It’s rare, though, that Jonny slips up or doesn’t see certain things coming–

–which is why, when they’re lazily making out on Patrick’s bed after a 6-3 win over the Blue Jackets, Jonny’s stunned stupid that Patrick manages to open his mouth and shock the hell out of him.

Jonny’s braced over him, arms trembling they’ve been in this position so long, and Patrick turns his head to break the kiss, grips the back of Jonny’s neck and pulls him closer, takes more of his weight. 

“I want you to fuck me,” he murmurs quietly into Jonny ear, and Jonny swallows his gasp, eyes going wide. 

He was _not_ expecting that. They haven’t–Jonny’s never even thought to push for that. He’s thought about it, about doing it, obviously, but he’s never–

Jonny can’t shake the shock, face burning, buried in Patrick’s neck. 

“Jonny?” Patrick presses, flexing his fingers. 

Jonny can tell, based on his tone alone, that this is something Patrick’s thought about, his hesitance now only brought on by Jonny’s silence. This wasn’t something uttered breathlessly in the throes of passion, mid-blowjob or orgasm or anything; they’re just making out, casual and easy. Jonny assumed they’d jerk each other off and go to sleep, but Patrick’s really raised his game here.

“I–Do you mean that?” Jonny asks, pushing up on his hands to look at him. Patrick blows out a breath to direct an errant curl off his forehead, cheeks flushed, and gives Jonny an inconvenienced look. 

“Did it _sound_ like I meant it?”

See, always there to correct, though Jonny does hate when he answers a question with a question that way. Just because he expects Jonny to read his mind on most occasions doesn’t mean Jonny can’t ask for some damn clarification every once in a while, especially when Patrick’s just pulled the rug out from under him. 

“Yes,” Jonny answers. “But I–” 

“It’s okay if you don’t, I just–” 

“No, I do–fuck, I do,” Jonny blurts, and Patrick’s mouth quirks up in Jonny’s favorite cocky, dimpled smile. “You really want that?”

“I know I want, uh–,” Patrick pauses, bashful now, which is rare, “ _you_ , and I think–yeah, I want to try it.” 

“Try…So you’ve never–”

“I’ve had sex, Jonathan,” Patrick says flatly. “Just not with an extra dick, but that’s not even–I’ve never with someone I–never like this, okay?” 

Jonny feels the weight of those words like a kick in the nuts; the vulnerability in Patrick’s voice, the implications behind them, beyond the physical aspect–the idea that Patrick wants to go there with him, for the first time, not just for the experience or whatever, but because he–

They haven’t defined what this is yet–what they are. Jonny knows with certainty, though, that nothing’s ever come as easily to him, felt as natural and whole and good, as Patrick does. Jonny sucks at saying it out loud, and Patrick’s only slightly better, but if this is the direction they’re going, Jonny’s ready to move full steam ahead. 

Maybe he doesn’t have to say it; he can show it. 

“Okay, Patrick,” Jonny breathes out, brushing their lips together, “Okay.” 

“Have you ever…?” Patrick trails off, kissing him softly, sliding his hands up Jonny’s biceps. 

“No,” Jonny replies honestly, answering Patrick’s actual question–whether he’s had sex with a guy or not–and the unspoken one–if he’s ever had sex with someone who means more. “I haven’t.” 

“Well let’s get this show on the road,” Patrick grins, waggling his eyebrows like a sleaze, and Jonny chuckles at Patrick’s ability to go from serious to ridiculous in the span of two seconds. Then Jonny thinks of something. 

“I’m no expert, obviously, but–” 

Patrick blows out an incredulous breath, lips sputtering. “That’s a fuckin’ first. Can I get that admission in writing?” 

Jonny moves off him and sits up, rolling his eyes and ignoring the hell out of that little interruption. He feels his cheeks heat as he continues, “ _But_ , I think we need like, supplies–that I don’t have.” 

“Not very responsible of you, Jon,” Patrick scolds, giving Jonny what Patrick deems his best impression of Jonny’s ‘serious’ face. 

“Well, shit, Kaner, I didn’t think–”

“I’m kidding, I know,” Patrick smiles, squeezing Jonny’s knee. “Lucky I came prepared.” 

“How long you been thinkin’ about this?” Jonny asks curiously, covering Patrick’s hand with his own. 

“Don’t ask me that,” Patrick mutters, which means a while. Jonny wonders what took him so long to say something, and why now, but he’s probably not allowed to ask that either. “Lube’s in my bag over there.” 

“I guess I’ll get it, then,” Jonny huffs, shoving at Patrick’s hip. 

On his way to Patrick’s bag, Jonny’s pulse starts racing, heartbeat hammering in his chest. 

They’re about to do this. Have sex. For real. 

Jonny can’t believe it. 

When he turns back to the bed, Patrick’s ditched his boxers already, flipped over to his stomach, and Jonny nearly swallows his tongue. 

“Shit,” Jonny hisses, “Patrick–” 

Patrick looks over his shoulder, curls a mess, and Jonny takes in every inch of him–his pale skin and freckled shoulders, the smoothness of his back and the perfect curve of his ass, his beautiful blue eyes beckoning to him. 

“You just gonna stand there, Taze, or…?” 

Still correcting. 

“Shut up,” Jonny shoots back, striding over to the bed, knee-walking to him. 

“You’re not as naked as you should be,” Patrick adds, twitching when Jonny slides a hand up the back of his thigh, blond hair soft against his skin. 

Jonny doesn’t say anything, because he’s not sure he could speak if he opened his mouth, and shuffles out of his boxers, not that Patrick can even see him turned that way. He realizes then, that Patrick’s only got lube, no protection, so he finds his voice somewhere. 

“Patrick, I–condom?”

“I know where your dick’s been…don’t I?” Patrick asks, slightly apprehensive, and that’s twice this evening, that Patrick’s surprised him; he’s on a roll. 

“You do,” Jonny confesses. He hasn’t picked up all year, hasn’t wanted to–not even a little. He’s clean, and Patrick’s about to fucking let him go in bare. 

Holy shit. 

“Alright then,” Patrick says decisively. “Time to pop this cherry.” 

“Oh my god,” Jonny mumbles, forever amazed at his ability to ruin a moment in such true Patrick fashion. “I don’t think that really applies–”

“I knowww that,” Patrick huffs, squirming. “Would you just–touch me already?” 

“Yeah, that’s enough talkin’ outta you, anyway,” Jonny teases, settling in behind him, smoothing his hands over Patrick’s ass cheeks to buy some time while he maps out a game plan. Jonny’s fingered himself before, but never anyone else, so he’s not totally clueless, but pretty fucking close. 

His own dick is half-hard, just thinking about this whole thing, anticipation and adrenaline and arousal coursing through him. He pops open the lube, dispensing some onto his fingers and rubs them together before guiding them to Patrick’s hole. 

Patrick jerks slightly at the touch, light as it was, and Jonny’s mouth goes dry when he applies the slightest pressure and his finger slides in fairly easily. 

“What the–”

“I–um, in the shower, a little bit, earlier,” Patrick explains, and Jonny groans, overwhelmed at the mental images that inspires: Patrick standing under the hot stream, opening himself up on his own fingers, for Jonny, because he wanted this. 

“Fuuuck,” Jonny breathes out, hunching over to press his forehead to the small of Patrick’s back to collect himself for a moment, dizzy with it. 

The half-hard dick situation has escalated. 

“Got started without me then, eh?” 

“Sorta–that okay?” Patrick asks, and Jonny feels him shift to look back again. “Are _you_ okay?”

“No,” Jonny answers, but he perseveres and gets back to it, though the job’s mostly been done for him. 

He slips one slicked finger in to the second knuckle, pumping in and out, working back and forth, and now Patrick’s the one groaning into his pillow as he bends his knee up to give Jonny more space, back flushing beautifully.

Jonny wants to put his mouth on it, so he pushes to his knees and leans over to make it happen, keeping up with the movement of his finger between them as he peppers kisses along Patrick’s neck and shoulders, feeling his muscles bunch and release beneath his lips. 

“Another, Jonny,” Patrick moans, “please.” 

Jonny slips another in immediately, sitting back again so he can focus on the task at hand, absolutely basking in the sounds Patrick makes when he presses down into that sweet spot over and over and over. 

“Shit–holy fuck,” Patrick pants, writhing under Jonny’s touch. “That’s so–oh my god, Jon.”

“Good?” Jonny asks, bracing an arm over Patrick’s lower back to keep him still, steadily thrusting his fingers.  

“Don’t fucking stop,” Patrick answers, hitching his hips in a way that lets Jonny know he’s chasing friction, dick trapped between his belly and the mattress. 

Jonny fingers Patrick within an inch of his life, if the noises are any indication, and Jonny’s so close to the edge, just from this, he knows it’s necessary, because as soon as he gets his dick in there, it won’t be long before this is all over, and he has to get Patrick there first. 

Patrick’s clearly tired of waiting, though, with Jonny three fingers deep, nailing his prostate on every stroke.

“I thought I asked you to fuck me,” he whines, “with your dick!”

“Patrick,” Jonny chokes, the dick in question twitching at the fucked out sound of Patrick’s voice. “I don’t want to come too–”

“I don’t care!–fuck, just–please,” Patrick sobs, reaching back like he’s going to grab Jonny’s hand to pull his fingers out if Jonny won’t do it himself. “I need–just get in me.”

“Fuck, Patrick, okay,” Jonny concedes, removing his fingers and grabbing the lube again, hands surprisingly unsteady now, given the fact he’s about to touch his own dick. He’s rock hard, has been forever, and he can only hope that he keeps it together long enough to make this good for Patrick. 

“Can you get on your knees a little, baby?” Jonny asks, patting Patrick’s hip and slicking himself up, probably excessively.

Patrick answers with a shaky moan, adjusting so his ass is in the air, forearms braced on either side of his head, hands clenched into fists. Jonny pauses for a moment, relishing the way Patrick’s hole looks this way, loose and spasming, ready to take him. 

“Jonny!” Patrick snaps, startling Jonny from his daze. “Would you–” 

“I got you,” Jonny assures, lining up, mentally preparing to push in. 

“ _Do_ you?” Patrick challenges, and Jonny rolls his eyes, slamming home to shut him up. 

It was a bold strategy; the sudden, tight heat of Patrick’s body around his dick enough to make him come before he’s even moved. He shudders to the sound of Patrick’s gasped moans, his heaving breaths. 

“Shiiiit, Jonny,” Patrick stutters, clenching hard, and Jonny practically convulses, waiting for Patrick to relax. He does, after a moment, and he’s quick to give orders. “Move, Jonny. M’good.” 

“M’not, m’gonna–Patrick, I can’t believe–” Jonny chokes, gripping Patrick’s hips so tightly he won’t be surprised if it bruises. 

“You’re–it’s so good already,” Patrick whines. “C’mon, I’m right–ughnn, right there with you, baby.” 

That. That is exactly what Jonny needed to hear. 

It helps him dig deep and find some chill, hold back enough to let go and fuck Patrick like he’s asking to be fucked–like Jonny needs to fuck him. 

He rolls his hips, pushing into Patrick and pulling out, again and again, the slick slide better and better each time, and it’s not long before Patrick’s pressing back to meet him thrust for thrust. 

“Oh shit, Jonny, that’s fucking–right there,” Patrick moans when Jonny angles down just right. “Fuck, talk to me, are you–”

“ _Am I_?,” Jonny gasps. “Christ, Patrick, if you could–stop talking or m’gonna lose it.” 

“You can, c’mon, Jonny, touch me, and you can,” Patrick rambles, and Jonny sobs a groan. Patrick really will be the death of him. 

Jonny bends over Patrick’s body and braces himself on the bed with one hand, trying to keep his thrusts from going too wonky, and reaches around to jerk Patrick off with the other, dick hard, hot and leaking, so the slide is easy. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Patrick chants, panting, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

His back is glistening with sweat, splotchy and red, and Jonny doesn’t know what exactly possesses him to do it, but he presses a kiss there and then sinks his teeth into the muscle of Patrick’s shoulder. 

Patrick comes with a shout, cursing and spilling into Jonny’s hand; he clenches so tightly that Jonny can’t move as much as he’d like, so he just grinds his hips in, over and over, and hearing Patrick this way, coupled with the fact that he’s needed to come for like, days, is enough. 

Jonny’s orgasm hits him harder than anything he’s been hit by all season, but in the best way possible, eyes screwing shut, gasping out Patrick’s name as he fills him up, sensation rocking Jonny from head to toe. He absolutely loses all awareness of time, space–of anything but Patrick and how fantastic it feels to be buried deep inside him. 

When he resurfaces from fucking nirvana, it’s to Patrick gently elbowing him to get off. Jonny’s collapsed on top of him, Patrick star-fished underneath, breathing labored and restricted. 

“You’re crushin’ me,” he mumbles lazily, and Jonny somehow manages to move, both of them hissing when Jonny pulls out. 

Jonny curls up next to him, taking in Patrick’s flushed face, his long, pretty lashes, and sweaty curls falling over his forehead, and cards his fingers through them. 

“So, um, did you–”

“Need a progress report already, huh?” Patrick smirks, cracking open an eye to look at him. Jonny blushes. 

Patrick fumbles a hand out carelessly, like his arms are made of jello, and cups Jonny’s face, tugs him in for a gentle, languid kiss. 

“It was perfect, Jonny,” Patrick murmurs against his mouth, “you were.” 

Jonny smiles, both incredibly satisfied to hear that and sheepish at the praise all at once. 

“–though you did bite the shit out of me,” Patrick remarks, and Jonny’s cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. 

“Sorry, I don’t know–”

“Hey, I’m just messin’–obviously I liked it, I came my fucking brains out,” Patrick chuckles. “Don’t apologize.” 

“Okay, not sorry, then,” Jonny replies, and Patrick kisses him again, just for a second, before pulling away. 

“Wanna be on my back next time so I can _see_ you lose your shit.” 

“Next time,” Jonny repeats, already looking forward to it…

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://toewsme1988.tumblr.com) dot com if you enjoy this nonsense!


End file.
